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Daily Flash Fiction - 7/29/24 - W/C 229 |
“You know what is the limit. You know how far you can go. But this? This has gone too far.” “Too far? Too far? Too far?” Each time the two words were spoken, the volume rose. “Yes, too far!” She turned and left the room. Offended again, I guess. I pushed her too far. I pushed her to the edge of the universe, to the edge of the stars, to the outer limits of where God sits with His angels. The ever-expanding edge of tomorrow is where she sits now, sulking amongst the inhabitants; a circle of all those I’ve angered over the years. They sit on stiff-backed chairs in a closed circle, discussing the ways of the world. They chat about, then tear apart, each conversation that they’ve ever had. This goes on day and night, night and day. Words are tossed into the black reaches of space, to be turned into new stars. Those new stars take shape. Suddenly, magically, the stars become planets in a new system with a new sun. Scientists declare a miracle. Telescopes show proof. I imagine her on that new planet. Bereft of civilization, alone. But that would be cruel, even for me, to imagine that person all by herself. She returns. “I’m sorry. I pushed too hard. Forgive me?” She does look forlorn. “It’s forgotten. I gave you to the universe.” W/C 229 |